


Paul's Broken A Glass

by faultyfriendofyours



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Home Invasion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, McLennon, spooky fic for spooky month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27205918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultyfriendofyours/pseuds/faultyfriendofyours
Summary: In the latter part of October, Paul and John nick some wine for a belated birthday celebration. Home alone, the boys are faced with a masked threat that ruins any planned fun.
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	1. Spooky Specter Sir

Orange and red leaves floated from the trees like lost embers from a flame. They danced among the sunburnt clouds in the dusk sunlight and demanded Paul’s attention. It was pulling a melody from his mind and twirling into the cool breeze to be lost in the quickly approaching night. He could barely keep up with it when he was snapped back to reality by a nasally voice.

“Right then daddy long legs,” John called out. He broke into a trot to catch up with Paul on the desolate sidewalk. They had found themselves in a suburban neighborhood sprinkled with tasteful Autumnal decorations. John was too blind without his glasses to make out the pumpkins and such but he did know they were nearing Mimi’s house by muscle memory. “Slow it down. I’m the one with the goods, here.” John patted his oversized jumper that concealed a bottle of brandy and some expensive wine.

“Aye, and so have I. Get your cardio up, why don't ya’.”

To speak of cardio, Paul had got his heart racing just 30 minutes earlier as he watched John expertly nick the bottles from the corner store. He was left to, subsequently, follow John’s lead. He managed to grab a much cheaper wine that was far from the store keeps view but nonetheless, it had him shaking with excitement.

They booked it out of the store and down the street with a shout and something clattering to the ground behind them. If Paul had taken a moment to look back he would have seen the store clerk had chucked a cricket racket at them. But his heart had been pounding so loudly in his ears that nothing could make him look back other than the need to grab John by the arm to lead him down an alley. But by then they were long out of the clerk's pursuit.

Now, sweaty but breathing right, Paul agreed to slow his pace to match John’s, though he could feel the song in his head slipping away into the night as he pulled his attention to his friend. 

“You never said where your aunt was gone to.”

“Not important, really. Think she’s out to visit a cousin’s cousin’s uncle’s sick sister or something.”

“Bad time to be a cousin’s cousin’s aunt,” Paul shrugged.

“Aye but it’s great for us and a good time for a second round of celebration for me birthday, at any rate.”

“I’ll cheers to that.”

The two kept at walking and talking, making banter out of whatever came into their minds. They were nearing John’s street when Paul gripped John’s bicep with a painful force. John let out a stifled curse and pulled his arm away. Paul had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes staring ahead. 

“Who the bloody hell is that?”

John squinted into the distance but couldn’t make out any human figures.

“Oh, put on your fucking glasses, Lennon!” Paul gave him a shake, finally looking to him before going back to the apparent person.

“Fine, _McCartney_! Fine!” John fished his glasses from his pocket and the world jolted back into clarity, the fuzzy haze clearing and allowing for dizzying definition. After adjusting to his renewed sight, he could clearly see the man at the end of the street. He was in dirty overalls and a mask that resembled a scarecrow's head, obviously in fancy dress for some creepy character. “Bit old for trick-or-treat, mate! And a week early to boot,” John yelled down the street.

Another assault came to his shoulder this time, and he looked to Paul with a bemused smirk. “The man looks like a loon! You’ll have him after us like that.”

“No worse than your staring,” John laughed, pushing forward. “We don’t even have to pass your Spooky Specter Sir, there. My streets just before him.” John pointed to the street sign with a limp arm.

Paul rolled his eyes, his initial fright somewhat subsided by John’s confident vibrato. “Don’t egg him on further, alright?”

John only rolled his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose as he began to walk backward. “You have my word,” He bowed dramatically, almost tripping over his still moving feet. “Now hurry along,” His voice picked back up to a shout, “so we might get pissed before the stroke of midnight turns the ugly duckling, there, into a pretty princess.”

Paul marched forward, grabbing Lennon by the arm and turning him around as he grumbled, “That's not even how it goes.”

“Isn’t it,” John laughed as they went down his street. He threw his head back to see if he’d gotten a rise out of the creep but said creep was gone. John adjusted his glasses again. “Buggers fast, I’ll hand him that.” He twisted to walk backward again, eyeing the bushes for a sign of the man.

Paul looked back at the same, now empty, spot and felt a chill travel down his spine. He didn’t like a single thing about that man and he certainly didn’t want to interest himself in where he might have gone. He made to shake the fear from his mind and turn his attention back to John's ever-approaching house. Before he could get halfway through his head-shake, he walked, full force, into a barrier.

He felt John’s arm slip from his grip as he stuttered backward and fell to the ground. He quickly grabbed the bottle of wine under his shirt, not saving his own arse from the impact. Pain shot from the end of his spine and throughout his back as he winced. Above him now stood the man. Fleeting light from the reproaching sun gave the man's outline a blood orange glow while hiding some of the mask's features in darkness. Paul could have shit himself at the sight if not for John being there to haul him to his feet in an instant.

“Watch where your fucking going!” John was glaring at the masked man. They both stood in front of him, John still holding Paul’s upper arm. “Is your mind blown out or something?”

The man stood his ground. “You shouldn’t have that,” he pointed to the boy's stomachs, where the bottles obviously poked out. His voice was grated and higher than expected, though severely muffled by the mask. “You’re too small, little bitty babes. Give it to me, then. You shouldn’t-”

“And you shouldn’t have been dropped as a baby but here we stand.” He really did sound to be high on something or simply crazed, John thought.

“What sense have you walking around scaring people,” Paul added as they moved around the lumbering figure. He kept glancing back, even as John guided him forwards. The crazy man had turned to stare at them but wasn’t seeming to budge.

“You sound like Mimi,” John chuckled.

“Well he _shouldn’t_ ,” Paul’s voice raised indignantly but he broke into a smile as John continued to chuckle away.

“Alright, Auntie.” John grabbed either of his friend's shoulders and held him as if he couldn’t stand on his own. “Let's get you in before you slip in the dark and break a hip.”

Paul shrugged him off with mock laughter but he wasn’t wrong about one thing. Night was sweeping over the suburb, leaving only a trace of light to guide them to the front door. The cloudy sky left no room for the light of the moon to help at all. 

They were both pleased to enter the house and be greeted by the light and warmth. In the kitchen, they laid out their spoils and John went for the cupboard. While he was occupied, Paul slipped back into the entry and latched the lock securely in place. Music leaked from the kitchen as he peaked out an adjacent window, relieved to not be greeted with the haunting mask.

“Boo!” A pair of hands grabbed his sides and he practically jumped from his skin, spinning to face the culprit. His hands met John’s chest as John pushed him against the door.

“Bastard!”

John smiled and leaned into Paul. “You love me.”

“Then I love a bastard.” Both boys were all smiles, eyes searching each other.

John buried his face into the crook of Paul’s neck. Paul hummed at the warm breath on his neck, letting John melt into him. Every stress from the outside world had now been whisked away and only they existed. Paul’s arms wrapped around John’s back, his face buried in John’s hair.

“You mean it?”

“That you’re a bastard? Of course.” John pulled away, trying to school his pouty features. Paul simply rolled his eyes and kissed the helpless boy. “I love you.” It came out as a whisper floating against John’s cheek.

“Good,” he pecked Paul’s lips and it was obvious that any sort of doubt was pushed away, for now. “Wouldn’t be sharing my drink with just any man like a harlot. What would the church think!” 

He parted from Paul, the warm feeling vanishing so fast that Paul almost pulled him back. But, instead, he followed his mate to the kitchen where two glasses filled with deep red liquid sat on the table. The record player was shoved, unceremoniously into the corner, something John must have managed before they met up earlier. A record was spinning around, music playing at a pleasant volume.

“So, not going to your room?”

John nodded, “Might as well take advantage of being home alone,” and grabbed something from the seat nearest him.

“John! Please, no. I-”

He had a monopoly box in hand and a grin on his lips. “ ‘John, yes’ you mean?”

“It’s not fun with two people,” Paul complained, pushing the box into John’s chest from over the table.

John played at seriousness, looking to truly consider Paul’s words as he took a sip of wine. “You’re right,” He placed the wine glass down. “We should call George over.”

“You’d have George come round with that nutter out?”

“He scare you that bad? He was just a drunk playing dress-up.”

Paul only glared over the brim of his wine glass.

“Oh! Or is it that you want me all to yourself?”

Paul’s lips curled into a smile around the glass.

“Naughty, naughty, Macca,” John sang as he set the box down and took a seat at the table. “At least get me tipsy first,” John exacerbated before throwing his head back and finishing off his glass. He looked to Paul with expecting eyes.

“Alright, we’ll play cards then, yeah?” He swirled his glass and went for the counter. Opening a drawer, he found a beat-up deck of cards and pocketed them so he could grab the bottle of wine while he was up. Before the drawer was half shut, intense banging echoed through the house. Paul jolted, his drink escaping his grip, the glass of wine shattering to the ground beside him. Three more loud bangs shook the pictures on the wall as Paul instinctively ducked down to clean up his mess.

“Come off it. I’ll clean it,” John grabbed Paul’s shoulder to pull him up but Paul fell forward, on to his hands, in the puddle of glass and wine. John jumped back as the younger boy cried out and cursed. “Oh-! You’re-”

“Fuck!” Paul was cradling one of his hands close to his chest, still leaning over his mess of glass. He curled in on himself, looking so small. “I’m fine. Just get the bleeding door.”

John held his hands up in surrender, almost afraid to touch him again. He looked between Paul and the door, suddenly anxious with which to attend to. His brain stalled until more knocks came. “Shit, sorry. Fuck- I’ll- I’ll just get the door. Fucking hell.”


	2. Horrors of the Night

As John’s footsteps became more distant, Paul examined his hand. His mind shut off all outside stimuli at the sight of it, leaving a dull ringing in his ears and his eyes zeroed in. A large shard of glass was sticking out of the center of his shaking palm, slicked with blood at the base. Paul’s breath hitched at the thought of removing it. Panic was creeping through his veins as he chewed at his bottom lip. He stood up all too fast and any blood that wasn’t gushing out of his palm and onto the floor seemed to be rushed to his head. Pricks of light spotted his vision and he fell into a seat. He knew the bleeding probably wasn’t _that_ bad but the sight of all the blood, mixing on the floor with the wine and making his skin look deathly pale had him in a right state.

He closed his eyes tightly, pulled a deep breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth. The smell of blood and wine turned his stomach but he felt a little less panicked. Before he could stop himself, he yanked the glass out of his hand with a painful groan. He tried his best to ignore the disgusting sensation of his flesh sliding and ripping against the smooth surface and jagged edge. He wanted to close his hand into a fist as his body cringed but found it too painful. 

Too disgusted by the sight of his hand, he turned his attention to the glass. It was pinched between his index and thumb, strewn with streaks of blood and looking even larger than when it was in his hand. He grimaced at the sight and knew immediately he’d need stitches.

Noises were coming from the front room but Paul was still battling ringing ears, going into autopilot to clean the mess. He threw away the glass shard, wrapped his hand up with the first dark-colored dishtowel he could find, and took a couple of swigs from the wine bottle in hopes to numb the throbbing pain. 

Blood and wine were trailed everywhere, including down Paul’s front. He was about to start a search for cleaning supplies when John rushed back into the room. His face was flush with color, glasses framing the terror brightening his eyes. The red flush seemed to drain to a sickly green at the sight of Paul and his bloody mess.

John shook his head fiercely, “He’s trying to get in,” and ran past Paul, into the back room. 

Paul blinked, clearing his head of the self-imposed fog, and followed after. “What- Who-?”

There was no need to finish the sentence. The masked man from earlier was at the small window in the back door, his mask's features looking more gaunt and terrifying than ever, just as John pulled the lock in place. The doorknob rattled as John stumbled his way backward, holding Paul tight against him. The terrifying mask tilted to the side, the x shaped stitches across the large eye holes stretching with the movement. The man seemed to stop trying at the door, moving his hands up to pull the stitched mouth into a straight smile. A butcher's knife was glinting in his hand. As soon as he had come he disappeared into the darkness.

There was a moment of silence before John began to breathe heavily. Paul sensed what was about to happen and grabbed onto one shoulder with his good hand while he pressed into the opposite shoulder as hard as he could with his wrist. “John, look at me.”

“We have to get out of here! We’ll have to leg it- We can’t stay in the house- We have- Oh fuck, and you’re hand! I’m so-“

“John!” 

He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hung open to form his next word but just stared at Paul.

“We’ll  _ not  _ be leaving. We’re safer in the house, yeah? Yeah?” He waited for John to nod before continuing, “We’ll call 999 and hide ourselves. That make sense?” Paul was leading him back into the kitchen as he spoke.

John slowly nodded his head, a deep exhale collapsing his posture. “Alright.” His eyes glanced at the cloth tied around Paul’s hand, blood darkening the beige towel.

Noticing he was leaving blood along John’s shoulder, Paul pulled away. “Go upstairs and find a place to hide for us. Close the curtains. I’ll call for help.” 

He was pulling closed the kitchen curtains as he spoke but spun around when John began to stutter, “No- I won’t- We shouldn’t split-”

“John, calm down, please. Here,” Paul pulled him into a hug. “Find us somewhere safe, alright? And I'll come right up.”

John nodded into Paul’s shoulder. His entire body was trembling against Paul’s. Whatever happened at the front door must have done a number on him.

“Okay.” Paul let up on the hug and pulled back slowly. “Go on, now, please, Johnny.”

John turned away and made for the steps, his broad figure somehow looking meek and timid- even with blood along his shoulder and back. Paul didn’t waste time thinking about it and rushed to the phone.

He collected himself as best he could at the phone and dialed the emergency number. But before the line could connect the room was drowned in black and the ringing line went silent. Paul whipped around to find the entire house was plunged into darkness, as far as he could see. The sudden silence was deafening. He wasn’t aware of how reliant his confidence had been on the quiet buzz of electricity and music until it was gone.

“Paul! Are you alright? The lights-”

“I know,” He shouted back. “Stay where you are. I’ll come to you!”

The moon seemed to be emerging from the clouds outside, as the house was slightly aglow with its pale light. It wasn’t much, but Paul’s eyes were quickly adjusting as he maneuvered to the living room. While nearing the stairs, a loud crash of glass erupted from the far side of the room. He dived to hide behind a sofa and sent silent prayers for John to keep his mouth shut.

High pitched humming was floating through the air, interspersed with fits of giggles. Paul’s entire body tensed as he crouched awkwardly on all fours. The whole thing would have been much more fluid if he had full function of his right hand, but instead, he was cocked up on one hand and bent down on one elbow, peeking around the plush furniture to see the outline of a man climbing through the broken window. A glint of moonlight refracted onto the ceiling, off the shining blade of the meat cleaver. Paul gulped at the sight but did his best to push his emotions to the wayside. Regulating his breathing to be as quiet as possible, he crawled around the sofa as the man approached, staying just out of his line of sight the whole time. Paul was on the complete other side of the sofa as he watched the large figure, hunched over and still giggling, move into the kitchen.

Every little noise Paul made sounded like gunfire crackling off, his breath like billowing wind, and his heartbeat like horses galloping- all though, logically, he knew that wasn’t so. As quietly as humanly possible Paul ascended the steps, skipping one in the middle he knew had a nasty squeak. 

When he reached the landing, panic set him stock still. Which room would John have gone into? The bathroom, Mimi’s room, and John’s room were all before Paul. All with closed doors.

“Little Babes, there’s blood on the floor!” The man's voice boomed from downstairs at an impossible volume. Paul lunged to the side on instinct and bolted for Mimi’s door. “Where are the wee babes?” The voice was coming closer as Paul’s hand slipped on the doorknob, fingers slick with blood and sweat. “I saw you! Saw you, saw you, saw you!” The voice was close but Paul didn’t dare look back, trying at the handle again as thundering footsteps slammed against the stairs.

He was vaguely aware of the string of curses leaving his lips as he gripped the knob tight and shoved the door open, promptly slamming it behind him and jamming in the doorknob lock. The man’s body slammed into the door, the sound of a blade hitting against the wood sending Paul falling onto his backside. His breathing was erratic, no longer being able to keep it level, and he was shaking from his core. He couldn’t move from the spot, listening to the jiggling of the knob and the slamming against the door as he sat in true darkness, no moonlight there to help him.

Hands suddenly grabbed at him and he pushed them away, falling against the nightstand in the process. “Get off-! Off me!” Things clattered to the floor at the force as Paul tried to scramble away from the hands, digging his back into the nightstand.

The hands were grabbing his knees, holding him tight. “It’s me! It’s John!” 

“It- I thought- John-,” Paul breathed deeply, moving his hand over John’s. He’d recognized those hands anywhere, sight or no sight. As he calmed himself a bit and accustomed his eyes to the new level of darkness he was in, he could just barely see the sharp outline of John in front of him. He laid his hand across John’s cheek and let himself be collected for a moment before jumping into action. He hauled himself to his feet, John following suit. 

“So, what the fuck do we do? How’d you know I was in here?”

Paul’s mind was fried. “I- I- don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just moved.” He winced as the slams at the door persisted. “The window?”

“Out it, you mean?”

Paul nodded but immediately realized John couldn’t see him. “Ye-yeah. It’s the”  _ slam _ , “only option,”  _ slam _ . “Unless you fancy waiting til he breaks the door in?”

John’s hands slid up Paul’s arms to grip his shoulders, “No, no!” He guided Paul to the window, “Macca’s and children first. Let’s go!”

Fumbling with the curtains at first, Paul finally managed to part the fabric as a bone-chilling  _ crack _ emitted from the door after a particularly hard assault. Pale light filled the room and allowed Paul to see the latch on the window. He quickly unfastened it as another assault came to the door, accompanied by yet another crack. The wood of the door frame was splintering.

John was practically shoving Paul out the window, quickly following after. He grabbed Paul by his wrist as a blood-curdling snap signaled the doors defeat. Paul went to close the window but John yanked him away, pulling him into an awkward trot on the slanted rooftop.

Without much choice, Paul was pushed to the front and left to lead, the security of John's warm hand not leaving his wrist. He quickly rounded a corner and peaked over the edge. The world was lit in a pale white glow, crisp air chilling the night. The full moon hanging bright and true made it easy to see that below them was all concrete. They’d have to run to the back of the house and jump into the grass if they didn’t want to hurt themselves in the process. Paul dropped John’s hand and scaled up a small split in the roof level, holding back cries as his hand was forced to dig into the gritty roof shingles, sliding the protective dish towel down his hand. 

As Paul adjusted the dishcloth-bandaid back in place, crouched on the upper level, John gripped the edge. He was completely unsure of his footing, afraid to slip and fall off the edge if his footing wasn’t sure.

Noticing the hesitation, Paul reached back to help when “JOHN!”

The masked man ran at John with his full force, the burlap of his mask harshly highlighted. The man tumbled into John just as his fingertips brushed Paul’s. The two were sent sliding down the roof, John's hands desperately digging into the shingles as they went. Paul lept from the higher roofing just as they disappeared over the edge with a painful thud following suit. 

Shock and terror coursed through him as he peered over the ledge. He could barely make out the two forms, on top of the other on. The smaller of the two rolled to the side but didn’t move further.

“Johnny! John get up!” Paul was wide-eyed and searching for a safe way down when he saw a bit of drainpipe affixed to the house. The flimsy drain would surely break but it would at least soften his fall. 

Not caring if he was wrong in his rationale, he shimmied down and grabbed the thin pipe with one hand. It almost immediately snapped from its hinges with his weight, jarring him and almost forcing him to lose his already weak grip. The aluminum bent slow enough for his fall to be completely softened. He dropped the last couple inches and rushed around the side of the house to find John and the man getting to their feet. John was limping backward, something slick dripping down his cheek as he kept his focus on the lumbering figure, hunched over in search of something- the butcher's knife, perhaps.

There was no gauging how bad off John was from where Paul stood. But that limp wouldn’t be of any help for escape. Paul’s legs were working just fine, however. John could go to a neighbor for help while Paul played as bait. Yeah. That could work. It was the only way.

John and Paul’s eyes met across the patch of concrete and John seemed to know exactly what Paul was thinking. He was quickly making to protest when Paul drowned him out with his shouts.

“Hey, bastard!” The man spun around to Paul, head crooked to one side. Paul barely registered that the mask was gone, his crazed eyes, sunken features, and sweat-slicked hair now shining in the moon's glow. He was just as terrifying without it. Regardless of his fears, Paul persisted. “You insane bastard! Come fucking get me!” Paul tested the bounce in his knees as he waited for the chase to start. 

He needed to clear the fence around the front yard. He wouldn’t have time to climb it so he’d just have to leap. Missing the jump would certainly mean death but it was the safest way out.

Paul waved his uninjured hand in the air. “Come on, then! Are you that thick?”

The man lunged forward but Paul waited to make sure he would commit to the pursuit. He watched as the man lunged to the ground, right at a dark shadow the house was casting and came back up with his blade in hand. How he could have even seen that in the dead of night, Paul didn’t know. He didn’t care to think through the logistics, either. Instead, he darted off with his eyes on the fence.

John was yelling behind him but he couldn’t process the words. He was too focused and determined. As he approached the fence, he checked that the man was still on his trail and was both pleased and horrified to find that he was. Paul looked back just in time to ready himself for the jump. Hoping his long legs would be of some use here, he pounced mid-run and cleared the pointed metal bars.

He smiled like mad at his small feat. The man was behind him still, awkwardly clambering over the obstacle. 

“Come on! I’m this way!”

As Paul paused to keep the man on his trail, John was slipping over the fence, making for his next-door neighbor. Paul gave an approving nod, though John wasn’t even looking his way, and took off down the road. The road was a dead-end, feeding into a field and some woodlands. All he’d have to do was lose the man in the woods and he’d be fine- or at least that's what he was telling himself.

As he ran, he yelled out for help as loud as his tired lungs would allow. He noticed a light flicker on inside a house he was running past and hoped for a savior if John had struck out.

“Get back here- Back, Back- Stop running!” The man was hissing as he kept up his pursuit, sending gut-wrenching chills from Paul’s fingers to his toes.

Paul dropped into silence as he hopped a broken down wooden fence and into the field. He glanced around the vast expanse of tall grass for the quickest route to the cover of the trees and found the tree line closer than what he remembered. He darted into the cover and found himself suddenly blinded.

The moon's light did not reach the forest floor and as he ran further and further he found himself in almost complete darkness. His lungs burned from all the strain and his sight erupted with bursts of static color. He was running like mad until he spotted what looked like a ditch. He halted on the spot, almost slipping in dead leaves, and inspected the potential hideout. Finding it substantial, he took great caution in scaling down into the deep ditch, freezing water washing over his shoes, and soaking through to the bone in an instant.

He shivered intensely, grabbing his arms as he hunkered down. There was no sound in the forest, save for the rustle of trees. It was like that, quiet and threatening, for a long time before a shout made Paul gasp aloud. He clamped a hand over his mouth and listened.

There was no use in making out what the voice was saying, even as it obviously got closer. It was too drowned out with panting and exhaustion to make any sense. But Paul knew it was the man.

Heavy footfall soon joined the noises of the night, causing Paul to hunker down further into this little hideout. When the footsteps seemed to stop right by his head, Paul pressed himself into the slick wall of mud and rock that made up the ditch. The man was panting loudly above him, murmuring nonsense. No longer allowing himself to breathe, Paul listened and listened, feeling on the verge of passing out until the footsteps started up again and he was alone once more. He gulped in air, relaxing his muscles against the mud wall.

After waiting in the freezing water for another 10 minutes, Paul clambered out and rid himself of socks and shoes. He shoved the socks into the shoes and tied the laces together to sling over his shoulder. The ground had some leftover warmth from the day and Paul relished it as he made to find his way back to John.

Shivering and feeling every bit of pain from his injuries, Paul wandered aimlessly in the dark, keeping as alert as he could. But that was easier said than done. He walked for what must have been an hour with no sign of a clearing. His bones seemed to be replaced by lead and all he wanted was to make sure John was okay and sleep. The first part seemed hopeless now, though he prayed to any god that would listen that John was safe. But sleep wasn’t out of the question- on the contrary, it seemed mandatory.

The night sky was now full of clouds and darkness, not a star in sight. He had no way to find his way to John. He might not even be going in the correct direction. 

Another shout erupted from the dark, sending Paul rigid. Feeling frantic once again, Paul scanned his surroundings. A fallen tree was barely visible to his right. Shelter. Somewhere to sleep. Somewhere safe.

It would be like camping. Scarry camping. But Paul loved the outdoors so maybe it wasn’t all that bad. He threw his shoes in first, glancing around for any sign of the man. His optimism was wearing thin as he crawled between the tree limbs. He knew someone would find him or he’d find his way out in the morning. He knew he’d be safe tomorrow. He had to be. Thoughts of John floated through his head as he drifted off into a restless sleep.

Brightness filled his vision and the song that had escaped him what felt like a lifetime ago played in his head.  _ One day you’ll find that I have gone… I’ll follow the- _

_ “PAUL!” _

He jolted awake, his eyes seared by the sudden light. The pain in his hand hit him in a wave. The dishcloth was soaked through with blood, leaving it to trail down Paul’s wrist. He groaned and moved to sit up, aching and throbbing pinged all over his body. Squinting and groaning more, he looked up at the sky between the dead branches and watched as the flame-like leaves danced against a burnt morning sky. Had he heard his name? Was it in his dream? He wasn’t sure.

Crawling out from under the tree, Paul stretched and complained of his aching limbs before grabbing his shoes and slinging them over his shoulders. Looking around, and finding no sign of a way out, Paul once again heard the tune in his ears.

_ Tomorrow may rain but I’ll follow the sun.  _ He glanced up at the rising sun and picked it as his course. Nature was buzzing with life. Birds chirped and squirrels roamed the crunching leaves. It felt like a different world from the terror infested darkness but Paul didn’t let his guard down. Though he felt properly drained- of blood and motivation.

“PAUL! PAUL, ANSWER!” A voice screamed through the woods, sounding familiar. It seemed like it was from just a ways off.

“Da’?” Paul’s mind was groggy and his voice came out a whisper. 

Against his body’s will, Paul ran into the sunrise, blinded by the light. His bare feet stepped carelessly through the terrain as he favored his injured hand, holding it close to his chest.

“MACCA!” The voice, different from the first, sounded so close but he couldn’t make out the source. “PAUL!” There was no doubting the voice belonged to his John.

“I’m here,” he called out with a surprisingly hoarse voice, feeling severely in need of water.

“Paul!” The shout sounded more like a question.

Running and running, he finally found him in the glow of the sun, outlined like a beacon of hope. But Paul didn’t, or couldn’t, let up on his sprint, slamming into John with open arms and knocking him back a few steps. “You’re- We’re alright,” Paul was panting like mad, glances darting every which way. “Did they catch the guy? Is it safe here?”

“Ease up you loon!” John was laughing, his voice unsteady. “They caught the bloke an hour into the search. Found him held up in a shed.”

Paul relaxed at the news and pulled back from the hug, looking over John. Both their faces were pulled into a permanent grin. John had dark circles under his eyes, a cut across his left cheek, a nasty bruise along his jaw. 

Both of them were becoming teary-eyed.

“You look like shit.”

John laughed with the wet of tears infiltrating his voice. “Have you seen yourself, love?” He plucked a twig from Paul’s hair before he cupped his face in his hands, their laughter dying out. “Thought that you’d gone and died on me.”

Paul nestled his chin into the warmth of John’s hands, arms securely around his waist. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Giving you the headache of finding a bassist as good as me and all.”

John snorted a laugh. “Shut up, you git.” There was a pause in which they both just stared at the other before John spoke again, this time in a husky whisper. “I fucking love you.” He pressed his lips firm against Paul’s, his hands slipping down and gripping onto Paul’s shoulders as if he was afraid Paul would slip away if he let up even a bit. Paul didn’t mind, melting into his lover's touch and forgetting the horrors of the night.


End file.
